


Two Way Street

by greekowl87



Series: @txf-prompt-box Tumblr [12]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, MSR, post ep ghouli
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-03
Updated: 2018-02-03
Packaged: 2019-03-13 07:08:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13565430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greekowl87/pseuds/greekowl87
Summary: My attempt at post ep Ghouli with aid from a few prompts. Scully comforts Mulder.





	Two Way Street

**Author's Note:**

> So, I saw two prompts floating about Tumblr (and I forget who came up with this one) where Scully has to comfort Mulder after Ghouli and the second, found on [@txf-prompt-box](https://tmblr.co/moXyH7PNrXR1S2GNygXdl_g) “Scully once caught Mulder feeding baby Will. Instead of doing the sound of a plane when getting the spoon to his mouth, he was doing UFO noises.” So trying to do a quick postep for Ghouli.

He was never my son.

That’s what he always told himself. Mulder only got to hold his son for 48 hours. He only got to know his son for 48 hours. Then he had to run. He was always running. Run, Fox, run! He wanted to stop running with Scully and William and have his little family. The American dream. But no.

Quietly, he detangled himself from Scully’s limbs and sat on the edge of their bed. The day had been hard. Glimpses of his grown son flashed in his mind, Scully’s face but his hair, eyes, and tallness. He always pictured William’s eyes being like Scully’s; a crystal clear blue that went on forever. But William really wasn’t his son, not really. He was the sperm donor. William had been his for 48 hours that was it. He gazed at Scully tenderly and let his fingers run through her long red hair affectionately. She murmured his name and flipped onto her stomach.

At least he was able to give Scully that, a son, be it however brief. And he was her rock today, holding her steadfast in the vast churning tides of her emotions. He could give her that too. All he could do is give and try to make her life better and that was enough for him. Getting up, he adjusted the comforter around before quietly leaving their room and venturing downstairs.

When did he stop thinking of William as their son, his son, and just strictly as her son? Maybe when he decided to be a coward and run. He wasn’t a good father. He was terrible. Just like Bill Mulder and the black chain-smoking son of a bitch that claimed to have been his sperm donor. No matter what side of the genetic pool he was on, he was royally screwed.

His footsteps echoed on the creaking wooden stairs as he made his way down to the darkened space of the living room. He cast a warm smile on the new leather couch and padded his way into the kitchen. Old habits demanded he stays up all night or chases his anxiety with the bottle. But he wouldn’t. He couldn’t. Scully could wake up crying from a nightmare or guilt or something. He would be there. He would always be there for her. It was the least he could do that. He’d failed at everything else.

Deciding to enjoy the lull of the 24-hour news cycle, he sat on the couch and switched it to CNN and laid back. It was only for 48 hours. Two days. 48 hours. 2,880 minutes. 172,800 seconds. He should have been there. He should have been there to protect Scully and William. But he failed. Closing his eyes, he failed to notice the silent padding coming down the stairs behind him.

“I remember waking up to the weirdest UFO noises once,” she began, “and when I woke up you weren’t there, William wasn’t there. I found you in the living room trying to feed the bottle to William for the first time.”

“I didn’t want to wake you.”

“Hm. I remember. Why are you up, Mulder?”

He arched his head backward and saw her wearing a pair of sleeping pants and one of his tee shirts. “I just couldn’t sleep, Scully.” He got to his feet. “Are you okay? Can I get you anything?”

She shook her head and walked silently to the couch and sat next to him. An awkward silence enveloped them. “He was your son too, Mulder.”

“No, he wasn’t,” Mulder murmured. “I was just the sperm donor.”

Scully sighed, remembering a simpler question after his abduction and dealing with her pregnancy. Quietly, she pulled at his arm until his head rested in her lap. She pulled his lanky body onto the couch like a child. Mulder did not fight her. She pulled the Afgan from the back of the couch and dropped it on him.

“You’ve always been my rock, Mulder. Don’t think it doesn’t go both ways.”

“He was your son, Scully. I was a father for 48 hours, that was it.”

Scully sighed and let her fingers rake tenderly through his hair as he sighed. Her fingertips caressed his cheeks, feeling tear stains. “It isn’t supposed to be like this, Scully. I should be comforting you.” He moved to get up but Scully held him in place. “I don’t deserve this.”

“Mulder, shut up.” She sighed.

While her own grief was still strong, and there was a relief too, about William, she now saw Mulder breaking before her. It was give and take with them. Hurt and heal. Her own grief was a hole that she could not fill. Mulder had it too but he prolonged it with self-flagellation, guilt, and martyrdom. He was trying not to break, for her. But she quietly and bent over and kissed his hair. “It’s okay to cry, Mulder. I’m here. Let it go. Let go.”

Mulder honestly believed she was an angel or had some divine power but she always had that healing touch. Quietly, he let go. Of the guilt. Of the self-hatred. And he grieved for everything that could have been, had been, and should have been and Scully just held him tightly.


End file.
